


Add A Dose Of Imagination...

by Ealasaid



Category: Problem Sleuth (Webcomic)
Genre: Baking, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-09
Updated: 2012-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-29 05:54:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/316518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ealasaid/pseuds/Ealasaid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspector makes cookies. Literally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Add A Dose Of Imagination...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blacktail](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blacktail/gifts).



  
Pickle Inspector was an anemic, underfed, unkempt, absentminded man. Maybe this had something to do with the fact that his imagination stat was literally so high it sapped every other stat he had and left him exposed to every distraction possible. Maybe it had to do with being some sort of genius who could solve puzzles even Death couldn’t figure out. Maybe it was just bad luck. In practical terms, this translated to Inspector having a seriously hard time cooking or baking because he was always prone to change the recipe at the drop of a hat, either voluntarily or involuntarily, and often with strange or unpleasant consequences.   


Problem Sleuth and Ace Dick had absolutely no idea this was the case. They didn’t know that Inspector had trouble while cooking because he couldn’t resist trying something new when he had never worked out the recipe in the first place. It wasn’t exactly a topic that just came up in everyday conversation. It’s not really that relevant to solving cases or working through weird puzzle shit or anything.

Nevertheless, there came a time when this became a severe problem. Naturally, it was a problem at the worst of times-- Ace Dick’s son’s birthday.

Dick’s wife, the lovely Wifehearst, had a mind like a steel trap. She was certainly higher on the intelligence scale than Dick, but had limited intuition. Somehow, she’d found out that you’d loved to bake, and wrangled a promise from you that you would bake Sonhearst several dozen cookies for his birthday. And now, here you were, the day before Sonhearst’s birthday, standing before a bewildering array of cookie ingredients in your diminutive kitchen.

You were _just_ going to make chocolate chip cookies, you swear. You really weren’t going to do anything else. But sometime when you started sifting the mixed ingredients, you thought that a little color would be wonderful to spruce up the bowl, so you added some oregano. The little flecks of green contrasted wonderfully with the off-white of the flour and the brown sugar and white sugar and salt and so on. 

You continued on satisfied for a while, but when you started beating in the eggs, you wondered if you could spruce up the yellow of the egg yolks with some saffron threads you’d found at the back of your cupboard. It mostly turned the batter into a rich orange color, but it looked so cool you didn’t really think it would do any harm.

You did get a few qualms not too long after-- you had added oatmeal on the spur of the moment to give the cookies more texture. However, you’d also thrown in a cup of raisins and some white chocolate chips, to contrast with the regular chocolate chips. You vaguely thought that maybe you should have left out the raisins, but for good measure, you generously shook some sliced almonds out of the package into the mixture. 

At the last moment, you added a shake or two of ground red chili pepper. You’d heard somewhere that, used sparingly, it added a little zip to whatever you were making.

Finally, you’d scooped little balls of the dough onto several parchment-papered cookie trays and bake each sheet to an even golden-brown. This does not take as long as it seemed, because you spent every second of it anxiously watching the cookies bake to the perfect color before delicately removing the tray. When all had cooled, you anxiously tasted one. It was like a flavor explosion in your mouth with a highly complex texture that pleased your puzzling mind. Perfect, you thought, for a four-year-old’s birthday party  


 ****

  


~*~*~*~*~*~EXTRAS~*~*~*~*~*~

 _Krabby Patties_

Droog lifted the slice of pizza towards his mouth. “I am going to despise this,” he sternly warned Slick, who was watching Droog with the intensity of a cat a mouse.

“Sure you will,” Slick sneered. “What are ya’, scared?”

Droog glared at Slick. “Of course not,” he snapped, and took a bite.

Slick watched as the taller carapace carefully chewed, a look of intense concentration on his face. “Well?” he demanded impatiently, unable to wait.

Droog looked at him, expressionless. He then made a deliberate show of getting up from the table and violently spitting it into the sink.

“You dipshit, you can’t have even tried it,” Slick said flatly.

“I can assure you I did,” Droog replied, and washed out his mouth with a bar of lye.

Slick left in disgust, taking his box of pizza with him.

 _Disregard Sleep, Acquire RP_

“Seriously?” complained the completely naked Sleuth. “You don’t even need this, what the hell is wrong with you.”

Slick snapped his fingers imperiously, clad in Sleuth’s Sepulchritude armor, reclining on the bed. “Shut up and feed me, slave,” he said snottily.

Sleuth rolled his eyes and dropped another licorice Scottie dog into Slick’s mouth. GPI forbid he ever suggest role play in the bedroom ever again.


End file.
